A few, hopefully, doggone good presidential observations; post inauguration…
We have two Dogs. My wife, Millie, says: “They’re our kids.” I guess that’s right, but I’m thankful I wasn’t there for the birthing.
One is smart as, well hopefully not as smart as President Obama who seems very smart, because that would be insulting to Barack. But intelligence is part of this collie’s make up; as it is pretty much all collies except Achilles: our second collie. Achilles had some unknown birth defect that lowered him significantly in the IQ realm of collie… (not so) …dom.
Why “Achilles?” Well, so I could say, “Achilles… heel!” Not that he got the joke for the brief time he was with us.
Our fifth collie’s name is Frankincense. He’s been with us since 1999. I have been out changing oil in one of my Nissan trucks and told Frankincense, “I don’t know where your Frisbee is.” That’s because I hid it from Mr. Catch-a-holic collie. A few seconds later he’s plopped it down by my oil greased hands, wagging his tail.
Another time I told him, “I don’t have time Frankincense, besides it’s about to rain and we’re both going in.” He turns around, walks up on the porch, sits down on the doorstep, and waits there with that annoying collie grin.
He can almost speak: he mimics human words. When I tease our little dog; collies always being the protecting souls that they are, I swear his barks are a form of profanity that would make Barnacle Bill the Sailor long for a pair of ear plugs.
I could go on; but you get the point. I’ve only had one smarter collie amongst the five collies I’ve had… and Lad was also frightening. I should have known. His previous owner named him “Lad,” and his companion, “Wolf,” yet knew nothing about Albert Payson Terhune and his turn of the last century book about his quite real collie; Lad: a Dog. She had never heard of Lad’s son, Wolf, or the book about his life. If not for Terhune there would have been no Lassie: he popularized the breed. The author of the first Lassie book suspiciously used the same names and similar story lines right after Albert died. Lassie, at best, was a well trained actor…. well many actors. Though his adventures may have been somewhat fictionalized, Lad was real. I’ve seen his grave. He was also brilliant according to all accounts I’ve read by those who really did met him.
Needless to say, in a country run by canines, Frankincense would be Presidential smart; like my Lad was; and Terhune’s.
The other dog, Batmutt, is some kind of cross between a Chichuahua and a terrier, or mini-dob. He can be as dumb as a sack filled with rocks. He barks at moving leaves, tries to chew sea waves, doesn’t wait for the door to open and runs into it head first: sometimes two or three times. He’s annoying: the only creature in the known and unknown universe who likes his own bark. As I type, the dog who always fails in his endless efforts to bully the bigger dog and the cats… cowers at the sound of distant thunder. He barks at objects that remotely look real: at best and fumbles over his own bark. He’d never make a public speaker… except he “speaks” all the time: constantly, while people cringe.
He really enjoys being bad.
Except he doesn’t seem to intentionally try to be bad.
I don’t think just Batmutt would seem to fail as much if he had a corporate owned media infested with shill talking heads and a whole party eager to goose-step at his beckon call; all willing to cover over or excuse his every misstep. Instead a whole army of supporters would also fail while protecting Batmutt. Even a moron could claim he succeeded while failing under that insane situation. He just had “bad intel.” His failures excused by a “few bad apples,” that actually amount to a parade.
Did I just describe the past eight years?
Back to Batmutt…
The dog named after a humorous comment: “If you put his head on a pair of wings he’d be a big bat,” is sadly one of the stupidest creatures I’ve ever owned. But my wife likes small furry things that seem to “need” her; no matter how mindless they are. Thankfully that’s extended to large, “furry” things; like when we first met and I had a full beard and long hair, or we may have never started dating.
Yet, unlike a certain recently former president, he may enjoy being bad; but it’s obvious he wants to be good. He’ll come back when called, though he is deaf for a while if some more worthy, impossible to catch, pursuit is in the yard: like a squirrel or a deer. Batmutt wouldn’t even think of insisting a huge army of dogs do the chase for him and die while doing it. No he really does take charge and responsibility; not just he’s “the Decider…” for everyone else. If we brought the body back held a service for one of those dogs, I know he’d willingly attend, though his demeanor might seem as callus as certain former top dogs. And though he may not get that he shouldn’t occasionally urinate inside the house; our home: where we all live… he will stop for a brief while when told he shouldn’t. Oh, and punishing him is an option, though Frankincense does do his best Pelosi-Reid “let’s keep that off the table” act. But at least the collie doesn’t pretend he isn’t protecting some offender who willingly and eagerly offended.
Batmutt may be a bit arrogant, but he will eventually submit when it becomes painfully obvious his actions inspire anger and disdain. You can tell: he’s knows he was wrong and is sorry.
And while he may torture others with his brainlessness, he doesn’t seem to enjoy it in any sense or do it to intentionally bother anyone with an ounce of common sense. He hasn’t invaded any countries, or claimed he has authoritarian, dictatorial, unitary powers. He doesn’t give asinine reasons for his misdeeds and while he occasionally fumbles when he speaks “dog,” annoying: yes, but he’s far more apt at speaking his own language than at least one human on this planet is at speaking any language. Like Frankincense, if there’s even a hint that someone is going to drive up our driveway, or a plane might fly into our house, you can be sure he’ll react and warn us all with a plethora of barks. Oh, and he wouldn’t even attempt to ride a Segway.
That’s right: he’s smarter than our last president.
And here’s to the hope our current one is smarter in the human sense than my collie is in the canine world.
We’re really, really going to need it… because if our last leader had really been a dog he would have been put down long before it got this bad.
Inspection is a column that has been written by Ken Carman for over 30 years. Inspection is dedicated to looking at odd angles, under all the rocks and into the unseen cracks and crevasses that constitute the issues and philosophical constructs of our day: places few think, or even dare, to venture.
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